


crimes of emotion

by soapyconnor



Series: Commissions [5]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Rejection, Self Harm, Soulmates AU, no graphic self harm, winged au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14671998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: hes not good enough(or so he thought)





	crimes of emotion

**Author's Note:**

> ayeeeeeeee this is for a ship only me and kingscunt seem to ship lmfao i wonder why

            Jack hummed quietly to himself, downing another glass of brandy.

            He sat alone in a bar corner, wings tucked neatly against his back. He was glad that he was alone, and that there wasn’t anyone trying to brush feathers with him. That was the last thing he needed, people trying to get it on with him while he was just trying to enjoy his day off. _Not to mention anyone who did would come across an abhorrent sight._

            He glanced towards Tequila, who seemed to be enjoying himself very much. He watched the younger agent’s wings spread out in a grandiose fashion, his silver wings with hints of gold and red rising above everyone else. Jack turned his head away, trying not to shudder as he watched someone run a hand through Tequila’s feathers.

            He got up, and went to the bathroom, making sure to keep his wings flat against him. Only when he got into the bathroom did he spread them out, arching them high above his head before letting them down, and letting his flight feathers brush against the floor.

            He stared at himself in the mirror. He could see the age on his face, and he felt disgusting. His age wasn’t just seen on his face, it could be plainly seen in his wings.

The inside of his wings was colored like whiskey, with red and orange iridescence laced within them. The outside was a soft brown, with white spots like a doe. There was no graying, no sign of age.

But it was clear they were unhealthy. The feathers hadn’t been groomed in so long and jutted out in random directions. Why take care of something that was incapable of flight? He was missing feathers all over the place. Anyone who wasn’t a moron could see that, but no one would be able to tell if it was from torture or from self-harm until they got up close and personal, which Jack never let happen.

Some of the damage was from him, some of it was from being kidnapped on the job and people torturing him on the job. Either way, everyone would just think he was self-harming, and he would rather keep it that way.

He continued to stare at himself in the mirror until the door to the bathroom opened. He glanced to the door to see a posh looking man walking through the door, and his wings immediately snapped shut against his back. Despite the fact he didn’t _care_ about his wings, he didn’t want people to see them, either. Especially not posh assholes like this guy, with his gray wings with red and silver iridescent feathers.

Fucking _prick_.

Jack turned his gaze down to the sink, trying not to tense up as the posh man walked up next to him. The man leaned his hip against the counter. “You know,” he said softly. “Your wings are truly beautiful. You don’t have to hide them from anyone. They’re a sign of how strong you are.”

Jack glanced at him and studied his wings. While they were folded firmly against his back, he could see evidence of feathers missing. Whether they were due to torture or self-harm, Jack would never know until he touched them. They still looked gorgeous, though, and he knew the man was perfectly capable of light.

What _did_ intrigue him though, spray painted on lavender mate feathers. No one would notice it, but considering the line of work Jack was in, he could tell the difference between real mate feathers and fake ones. He raised his gaze, and just said, “Thanks.”

But the man didn’t budge. He just continued to stand there and look at Jack’s wings. Their gaze met again. “Can I touch them?”

A wave of anger and discomfort flooded Jack. This was so fucking disgusting, and he knew it was because the rich fuck thought he was better than him. You could fucking assault anyone when you had dough rolling out of your fucking ears. Nevertheless, something in Jack decided to say, “Go ahead.” It felt like it was against his fucking will.

He extended a wing the same time the man extended a hang. The man slowly dragged his fingers through the feathers, and Jack’s body twitched. God, it felt . . . good? Not like he was being violated by a stranger? His eyes went wide as he saw the feathers change beneath the spray paint. A light orange now dappled the man’s mate feathers, and he was sure if he looked down at his own wings, there would be red along his now as well.

Their gazes met.

“I’m sorry,” the man apologized, backing away. A black hole opened in the pit of Jack’s stomach. “I’m afraid I must go.”

“I figured as much,” he said, turning away, trying not to show how much it hurt to be rejected by someone who had tried to brighten him up just a few seconds ago. “Make sure to use four layers of spray paint next time, eh? Don’t want people to think you’re a hawk.”

            The man tensed, glancing down at his wings. He didn’t say anything. He just turned and left.

            Jack felt like he had just been murdered right in this bathroom.

 

 

            It bad been a good fifteen years when Jack saw his mate again, and it was under not so good circumstances.

            He stared at the man who had been addressed as Percival, his eyes burrowing into the mate feathers along the middle of his wing. The lavender spray paint was gone, and instead he had painted them white, to show that his mate was dead.

            That hurt Jack worse than seeing them spray painted.

            He ignored the man, and mainly talked to Eggsy, who seemed nice enough. The kid had genuine grayed out mate feathers, and it took Jack a while to realize that the kid’s mate had been the John Doe that had found dead outside of a hate church. He comforted the kid after that, knowing that the kid needed someone to comfort him, and it seemed Merlin and Percival weren’t going to do that.

            But the mission was over. They had saved the world and now it was time for Kingsman to return home, or to whatever home they had left.

            Jack would never have to see that piece of shit again and he was extremely grateful.

            He laid on his bed in his quarters, trying to sleep, ignoring the pain rocketing through his wings. Some new feathers were trying to come in, but he had destroyed his wings so much that they were struggling to come through.

            He heard a knock on the door, and he sighed loudly, before he struggled to sit up. It was probably the kid, trying to convince him to go out with him and have a victory drink, or having him join Kingsman instead of Tequila.

            _But if Jack had to spend the rest of his life around the man who had rejected him, the man who had made his wings even worse, the man who made it obvious what was wrong with Jack’s wings was completely self-harm, the man who made it obvious Jack wasn’t good enough_ —

            He shook his head, and reached into his nearby dresser drawer, shoving a painkiller in his mouth. God, he just wanted to get over this. It’s been years . . .

            He stood up, and limped over to the door, opening it without looking through the peephole. “Eggsy, lad, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t want to drink—” he stopped, as he realized that this man was a lot taller than Eggsy and was in dress pants and sweater.

            He raised his gaze. His heart dropped into his stomach.

            “Hello,” Percival started to say.

            Jack slammed the door in his face, but Percival’s foot jerked out to prevent it from closing. “Jack—” Percival started to say, forcing the door open.

            “Whiskey,” he snarled at him, shoving his palm against his face, trying to get him to back out. He had his pathetic, broken wings spread out, desperately flapping to give him some leverage, black feathers falling to the ground. There were still some remnant mate feathers with red on them, and Jack wished they would just go away.

            Percival side, and with a single flap of his wings he sent Jack tumbling to the ground. He approached Jack quietly, and Jack scrambled away, glaring at him. Percival stopped, and closed the door, before he noticed the feathers on the ground. His eyes flickered briefly, before he knelt down, and picked up a singular, black feather.

            Jack sat there, resisting the urge to tear out the few remaining ones.

            “I’m sorry,” Percival said, sitting down and studying the black feather. “When I said I had to go, I never meant for you to think that I—”

            “Your actions speak louder than your words,” he said blandly. “You spray painted on fake mate feathers. You were interested in me until my mate feathers appeared on your wings, then you acted like I was repugnant. Your urge to rush out of there made it clear that you didn’t want me.”

            “That’s not true,” Percival replied, almost desperately. “It’s not. Yes, while I was stressed out because I didn’t know what I was going to do, it wasn’t because I didn’t want you. Please, Jack—”

            “Whiskey.”

            “—I was on a mission. My target was someone with destroyed, flightless wings, and I saw you and you were hiding them so I thought you were the one,” he said, slowly crawling towards Jack. Jack stuck his foot out, his foot connecting with Percival’s face, and Percival grabbed his ankle, before slowly lowering it. Jack laid there, staring at him blankly. “I needed to touch your wings because his were damaged due to a car accident as a child. I needed to know what yours were from and as soon as I realized they were from self-harm I knew that you weren’t it. I’m so sorry. I tried to find you afterwards but you must have gone on a mission.”

            Jack hummed, staring at him, trying not to cry.

            There were long moments of silence, before Percival hesitantly went, “Jack?”

            “For years,” he murmured. “For years I forced myself to hate you. My wings got worse after you. Ginger kept telling me if I just let them healed, if I stopped tearing at them every day, they would get better. I could do physical therapy and fly again. But after your rejection, I couldn’t. I could never recover after that.”

            He raised his gaze to meet Percival’s gaze. “You _destroyed_ me.”

            Percival crawled forward, and Jack let him. Despite how much he wanted to hate him, having Percival being so close, having him _want_ to be close, and having him _want_ to touch him was too much, and he couldn’t refuse. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping the tears that were pouring down Jack’s cheeks without his knowledge. “I’m sorry. What did you expect me to do? I’m a spy. It’s not really like I could explain myself.”

            “You could have not left. You could have given me your number.”

            “I’m sorry,” Percival murmured.

            Jack sat there, staring back at him, too tired to tell him to leave. And he wasn’t going to lie, it felt nice, being here with him . . . “You’re not going to say if you could go back and change the past you would?”

            Percival looked hurt, but nonetheless he sat down next to Jack, and cuddled into his side. “For me to say that would mean that I regretted the last years with my husband,” he murmured, glancing down at the fading spray paint on his wings.

            Jack glanced down at them as well. His heart felt crushed. He felt so selfish for trying to suggest to him he should have been with Jack instead of his husband, especially when it was clear they weren’t together very long. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

            “Don’t be.”

            “But I have too. You didn’t have him that long, and it’s clear you loved him a whole lot,” he said, resting his head against his shoulder. “Especially if you were torn between trying to be with me and being with him.”

            Percival shrugged. “It’s over now. Now I’m here with you.”

            “But that doesn’t take away what you had with him.”

            Percival shrugged again.

            They laid there quietly, their wings gently brushing. “Why did you spray paint your wings?” he murmured. “It’s rare for people to do that. The world’s a lot more tolerant now, y’know . . .”

            It took Percival a while, but he finally responded. “My parents. The only way I could ever be with him is if we pretended we were mates,” he said softly. “I couldn’t exactly reveal to them that he wasn’t really my mate, now, could I?”

            Jack swallowed. God, he felt so bad for the way he had villainized him inside his own head . . . “I understand.”

            They continued to lay there, both of them too tired to speak. Jack was almost asleep when Alastair said, “Your wings . . . I uh . . . noticed that the feathers were having trouble coming in?” Jack nodded against his shoulder. “Can I . . . um . . . help you out?”

            Jack winced. “Sure.”

            He got up, and awkwardly walked to the bed, Percival following him. Jack laid on his stomach, letting his wings lay limply along his back. He felt Percival’s weight on top of him, and he tried to control his breathing.

            “I’m sorry,” Percival said, before he found one of the knots, and he slowly began to work it out of the hole.

            A scream tore through Jack’s throat, but he just buried his face against the pillow to muffle his screams. It felt like days, but it honestly had only been an hour or two when Percival stopped pulling his feathers out.

            Jack was dizzy, and lightheaded, and he glanced back at his wings. They by no means looked healthy, but they looked full, and not as damaged as before. They were completely black, except for the slight tints of red. He buried his head in the pillow, breathing harshly as Percival got up to get a towel. He returned and began to pat down his wings to clean the blood off of them.

            Jack was breathing heavily, almost passed out when he felt Percival get up to leave. He grabbed his wrists, dragging him back down onto the bed.

            “What?” Percival asked, confused.

            “I need you,” he said, chest heaving.

            “Wha—?”

            “You tore my feathers out of their roots and now you’re trying to leave? I’m in pain, and I need comfort and my body is screaming for you. If you try to leave again, I may kill you,” he growled, low in his throat.

            Percival chuckled, and Jack was irritated by that. “All right,” he said, rubbing Jack’s back softly. “I’ll stay here.”

            Jack nodded, hands fisted in the man’s shirt as he passed out.

 

 

            “Do you want to get married?” Alastair asked absentmindedly as they began to walk home.

            Jack turned and raised an eyebrow at him with a quiet hum, their hands intertwined and wings brushing. While he would never be able to fly again, his wings were starting to return to their original color. They would never be the same, bright colors, but they would get pretty close. He had stopped hurting himself as well, and his wings looked full, you could barely even tell that he had once had the wings that a coke addict would have.

            “No?” he said, voice soft. “I’m pretty content with this.”

            “Are you sure? Marriage is a pretty permanent . . .”

            “So is having your mate feathers on me,” Jack replied, teasingly. He forced them to stop walking, and he cupped Alastair’s face, smiling softly up at him. “I’m content with just this. I don’t need to be married to you to be happy.”

            Alastair looked at him, and he looked nervous. Hoping to reassure him, Jack kissed him lightly. He felt Alastair’s arms wrap around him, holding him close.

            There had been a point in time where Jack would have demanded to be married to him. But now? Jack was confident enough to know he was enough for Alastair.


End file.
